Friend?
by dumpling47
Summary: One-shot. In one particular scene in 'The Blind Banker', John left Sherlock completely embarrassed, though he didn't realize it at the time - in front of Sebastian, of all people. Here lies the emotional aftermath.


**Because John and Sebastian were being awful in 'The Blind Banker', and I have a hard time believing that Sherlock just shrugged it off.**

* * *

"This is my friend, John Watson," I said, a touch of pride in my voice.

"_Friend?_" Sebastian's eyes bugged out as though the idea were ludicrous - and I suppose it was, really. I hadn't had friends at Uni, so certainly my proclamation came as quite the surprise.

"Colleague," John answered.

Sebastian scoffed, giving me the once-over, and I felt a great, gaping hole in my chest. Why was John doing this? I thought he and I were friends ... but then again, I suppose reaching a mutual agreement about who bought the milk (i.e., John) did not constitute friendship. But - he'd _killed_ a man, for me, and we'd solved a couple of cases together, and, well ... I don't know.

I thought were were friends, but I guess I was wrong.

* * *

When we got home from the bank, I went to my room, locking the door and taking deep, steady breaths to calm myself. I don't know why I was so bothered by what John had said. Who would've thought the one word could do so much damage?

_Colleague._

It was like a hard slap in the face. After all the teasing I'd received at Uni, I'd hoped to somehow prove to Sebastian that I wasn't, in fact, the hopeless loser that he'd always assumed me to be. I was proud - so proud - at the idea that I, the most unsociable and eccentric of people, could've made a friend as loyal and kindhearted as John.

But _no_. We weren't friends, and John had seemed completely adamant about that fact.

As all these thoughts ran through my mind, I couldn't get rid of the hollow pain in my chest. My heart was physically hurting me, and I would never use that expression lightly. The worst part about it was, because my mind is such an engine, tearing itself to pieces, I'm constantly thinking up new scenarios, overanalyzing things. In that moment, my thought process went along the lines of: _does John hate me? If so, why? What did I do? Why does he stick around, if he hates me so much? Oh, yeah - the rent. The bloody rent. Well, sod that, he can keep buying the milk for all I care, it'll be his punishment for making me look the fool in front of Seb -_

"Sherlock?" John's voice called, outside my door. "Dinner's ready."

"Go away," I said petulantly.

"Oookay, then," John muttered. "Don't know why I asked. It's not like you ever eat or anything."

I didn't answer; the pain in my chest was too much.

"Sherlock?" John called. "You okay?"

Silence, once again.

"Sherlock," John knocked at my door. "You could answer me, you know, or I'll assume you're in trouble."

"Why would a mere _colleague_ care so much for my welfare?" I snapped, losing it completely.

"_What?_ Sherlock, open this door," John insisted. I got up from my bed and opened it, fixing him with a scornful look.

"What's the problem?" he asked. "What's this about a 'colleague'?" He paused, realization dawning on his face. "Oh. Oh, God, Sherlock - I'm so sorry, I -"

"We're not friends," I said simply, "So why are you apologizing?"

"Sherlock, what I said today, I didn't mean it -"

"Well, what did you mean, then, John, because I'm obviously missing something!" I was too pained, too hurt. The exact reason I didn't go about making friends left and right. Sentimental connections only hurt, in the end.

"I was - I was mad about the whole chip-and-PIN machine fiasco," he admitted. "And about how you were just sitting around, making me run all the errands, and - look, Sherlock, I didn't mean it, I swear. I was just crabby, but that's no excuse. I realize I - I embarrassed you, in front of Sebastian."

It was hard to be mad at him for long, though he was certainly right about the embarrassment part. "Okay, John," I muttered. "I just ... more than anything, I wasn't trying to impress him. Seb, I mean. I just liked the idea that I -"

"That you had a friend," John said quietly.

"I've never had a real one before," I admitted. "Excluding the skull, of course."

We both laughed, if a bit nervously. John stepped forward, patting me on the shoulder.

"How _couldn't_ I be your friend, Sherlock? We've been through too much for us to be mere colleagues!"

I grinned, and I imagine my cheeks colored a little. "Thank you, John."

"Of course, Sherlock. Now come on, let's eat something!"

The chest pain was still there, but only a little. I could feel it going down in great amounts, though, and I was having a very hard time being angry with John. My _friend_ John.

Because I was feeling so much better, I actually decided to join him for the meal. Because that's what friends do, isn't it? Hell, maybe when the opportunity arises I'll actually take care of the domestics.

But I don't want to push things, so for now we'll stick with dinner.


End file.
